style="font-size:15px;"> Her thought for others measured with herself,Her place and grade in human life to-day?
Thanksgiving
I never thought much of the folks who pray
The Lord to make them thankful for a meal
Expecting Him to furnish all the food
And then provide them with the gratitude
They haven't grace to feel.
I never thought much of this yearly thanks,
Either for what once happened long ago,
Or for "our constant mercies." To my mind
If we're to thank a Power that's daily kind,
Our annual's too slow.
Suppose we spread Thanksgiving—hand it round—
Give God an honest heartful every day;
And, while we're being thankful, why not give
Some gratitude to those by whom we live—
As well as stingy pay?
Thanksong
Thankful are we for life
And the joy of living.
Baby-pleasure of taking;
Mother-glory of giving.
Thankful are we for light
And the joy of seeing.
Stir of emotion strong,
And the peace of being.
Thankful are we for power,
And the pride ensuing;
Baby-pleasure of having,
Father-glory of doing.
Love
Not the child-god of our most childish past,
Nor sympathy, nor worship, passionless;
Nor gratitude, nor tenderest caress:
Nor the post-mortal glamor priests have cast
With "This to hope! Surrender what thou hast!"
These are but parts and can but partly bless;
We in our new-born common consciousness
Are learning Law and Life and Love at last.
The age-old secret of the sphinx's holding,
Incarnate triumph, infinitely strong;
The mother's majesty, grown wide and long,
In the full power and fire of life's unfolding;
The conscious splendor and ripe joy thereof—
Glad world-wide, life-long service—this is Love!
Steps
I was a slave, because I could not see
That work for one another is our law;
I hated law. I work? I would be free!
Therefore the heavy law laid hands on me
And I was forced to work in slavery—
Until I saw.
I was a hireling, for I could not see
That work was natural as the breath I drew,
Natural? I would not work without the fee!
So nature laid her heavy hands on me
And I was forced by fear of poverty—
Until I knew.
Now I am free. Life is new-seen, recast
To work is to enjoy, to love, to live!
The shame and pain of slavery are past,
Dishonor and extortion follow fast,
I am not owned, nor hired, full-born at last,
My power I give.
Child Labor
The children in the Poor House
May die of many an ill,
But the Poor House does not profit
By their labor in the mill!
The children in the Orphanage
Wear raiment far from fine,
But no Orphanage is financed
By child labor in a mine.
The Cruel Law may send them
To Reform School's iron sway,
But it does not set small children
To hard labor by the day.
Only the Loving Family,
Which we so much admire,
Is willing to support itself
On little children's hire.
Only the Human Father,
A man, with power to think,
Will take from little children
